


My Other Suit is at the Cleaners

by Mordhena



Series: Crowley is Asmodeus Headcanon [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bring Back Crowley, Fix-It, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Past Crowley/Dean Winchester, Vessel Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 22:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16689712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Mordhena
Summary: Kind of a follow on to This Flesh and Bone. A small snippet that was originally going to be a chapter of that story, but wound up not getting written because I couldn't figure where to put it in and because I lost interest in TFAB and finished it with many loose ends still trailing. This was down to events in my life getting out of control, and the looming commencement of University. Still, this little plot bunny wouldn't lie down, so...





	My Other Suit is at the Cleaners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [under_a_grey_cloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_grey_cloud/gifts).



**_  
I am aware that in the show, Crowley's smoke form is red, however, for purposes of differentiation, which will become clear, I have changed it to black in this story._ **

* * *

Crowley is bored with lectures on how to survive in a world without Michael. He slouches at the back of the room while Sam and Dean hold forth on all the wonders of non-apocalypse world, wishing he could be anywhere but here in this particular spot at this particular moment. He’s so lost in pouting about his current situation that the vibration doesn’t quite register at first. It’s a vague static hiss somewhere at the back of his mind. Familiar, mildly irritating but uninteresting—until it becomes interesting.

Crowley tips his head to one side, narrows his eyes, tuning out the hum of discussion around him the better to hone in on what he senses. He straightens with a muttered curse, glances around to ensure he’s unnoticed, and snaps his fingers, vanishing from the room without another sound.

Damn this world for its angelically generated morass of chaos! Crowley can’t get a fix on the location. He flies hither and yon, scanning the blasted terrain below. Curse Michael and his twisted ideas of perfection!

In the end he is forced to triangulate and lands within a ‘ballpark’ estimation of the signal’s location. From there, he will just have to hoof it until he can get a clearer fix.

He expects that he won’t find much of any use, but it’s worth a look in any case.

Crowley turns in a circle, decides that the signal is strongest from the west, and starts walking.

\--

“All right,” Dean says, bringing the briefing to a close. “That’s everything we can give you for now. The rest, you’re just gonna have to pick up as you go. Any questions?” His tone suggests that should there be any, they had best not be asked. He glances around. Nothing but shrugs and shaking heads.

“I still can’t believe they let that orange haired idjit from The Apprentice be president,” Bobby growls. “Reckon I prefer Michael.” There are nods of agreement and Mary chuckles.

Dean smothers a grin, keeps focus. “We move out at dawn,” he says. “We’ll  need to find some means of transport.”

“I saw an old school  bus on our way in here,” Sam says. “Maybe we can get that going.”

“There’s a couple a jeeps in camp, too,” Bobby adds. “We can go get the bus, tow it in.”

Dean nods. “Let’s get to it, then.”

Castiel looks around the room, frowning. “Where is Crowley?”

Dean shrugs. “I thought he was with you.”

“He’s _obviously_ not.” Castiel scowls at the hunter.

“Wherever he is, you’d better go find him,” Dean says. “We only have a few hours before we head out.”

Castiel draws a long, slow breath. Dean has an uncanny ability for stating the glaringly obvious, except for those moments when he is so painfully oblivious to facts, that it sets Castiel’s teeth on edge. He turns to Jack and Gabriel. “Did either of you see where he went?”

Jack shakes his head. “I’ll  help you to find him.”

Gabriel shrugs. “Last I saw him he was sulking in the corner. Can’t say I took much notice of him.”

Huffing a breath, Castiel heads for the kitchen. “I can’t seem to sense anything in this place. The air is…”

“It’s the angels.” Jack follows him. “They…scramble everything. Radios are patchy, cell phones are useless, and… it affects me, too. I had a headache for two weeks after I came here.”

Surprised, Castiel turns to look  at the Nephilim. “Headache?”

Jack looks a little uncertain. “Pain…here.” He points to his temples. “Is that not the word for it?”

“No. I mean. Yes, that is called a headache, but…”

“Oh.” Jack beams his innocent smile at Castiel. “We figured that because I’m half human, I am susceptible in ways that angels aren’t to the magnetic disturbances.”

“Makes sense,” Gabriel says. “I’m having trouble making sense of anything, and I’m fully charged, now.”

Castiel sighs. “How am I supposed to _find_ Crowley when none of us can even…”

“Hey! I didn’t say I _can’t_ make sense of it. Only that it’s not as easy as usual,” Gabriel says. “Lemme see…”

 

\--

His hunch was correct. The further Crowley walks westwards, the stronger the signal gets, but there’s something else mixed in. Something disturbing. He slows his pace. Discretion has kept the demon alive for millennia and he’s not about to do anything stupid at this point. As he gets closer it is also easier to pinpoint the location. Strangely, the signal is above ground, not beneath as he’d initially expected.

He approaches a tumbledown building. It’s mostly rubble, only one small section still capable of providing any kind of cover. Gas pumps, blown open and blackened by fire stand like skeletal sentinels in front of it. A melted Perspex pane hangs awry from the twisted metal remains of the post it once crowned. The lettering is distorted, flowing cartoonish, towards a pool of solidified plastic, but Crowley can just make out that it once read “Gas’n’Sip. The signal he’s tracking originates from inside the building.

He paces forward, slowly, his steps crackling over pebbles of shattered safety glass.

“Hallo?” he calls. “It’s me.”

There’s no response.

“Come on! I haven’t got all day!”

“McLeod?” A short, well presented man—demon steps from the crumbling ruins. “I thought you…” He stops mid-sentence, eyes Crowley from head to foot and back again. “What in the name of Beelzebub are you wearing?”

Crowley smirks. “Lovely to see you, too, ducks. I didn’t die, by the way. I got…sent to the empty and recalled, but that’s not important.” He glances down at the vessel he occupies. “My other suit’s at the cleaners,” he raises a speaking gaze to the demon.

“Hm. I had a job of work getting it back to our usual standards.”

“The Winchesters told me they burned it.”

“They did.” the demon snarls. “Imbeciles! We currently owe favors across four of the lower circles of hell and one heavenly principality.”

Crowley chuckles. “Oh,  well, where we’re going, all the princes of heaven and hell are dead. It won’t matter.”

“You’re proposing a… re merger, then?”

“Mmm.” Crowley nods. “We had a deal, and I see no breach on either side.”

“True enough.” The demon shrugs. “So, McLeod…”

“Crowley.”

“Roderick Crowley is dead.”

“I’m aware.” Crowley shrugs. “I’m partial to the name. Let’s preserve it in the man’s honor. He was a good host, dressed us well, stayed out of our business. We owe him something.”

“Very well.” The demon nods.

The skinny red-haired man’s head rears back, mouth open as black smoke curls up and out of his throat hissing, swirling and finds its way into the other vessel’s mouth.

Crowley sways on his feet for a moment, shakes his head. He straightens, squares his shoulders, smooths his hands over the immaculately tailored Armani suit. He lets out a breath of relief. “ _That’s_ better!”

The red-haired man stumbles, falls to his knees, shaken with violent tremors. “Bollocks,” he groans. “I hae t’lay off the booze!”

Crowley hunkers down next to him, lays a hand on the man’s shoulder. “No need to make hasty decisions,” he says. “You may want a wee dram before this adventure’s done.”

The demon looks up as wind and lightning, along with a keening wind announce the imminent arrival of an archangel. “I _sincerely hope_ that’s the cavalry.”

A moment later, Gabriel, Castiel and Jack land in front of the ruined gas station.

“Crowley!” Says Castiel.

“As _mo_ deus!” Says Gabriel.

“Cro _mo_ deus?” Jack, puzzles.

Crowley straightens. “Hello, boys.”

**Author's Note:**

> _A/N: After Mark A. Sheppard quit the show, and quite vehmently avowed that he will never return as Crowley, I made an unwirtten pact with him, not to bring that version of Crowley back in my writings. I remained true to that pact for as long as I could, but I miss him so much and Fanfiction is meant to fix the booboos, right?_
> 
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> _So, to Mark A. Sheppard with all due respect. I'm sorry, but I had to have him back._  
>  P.S. You don't have to play him, he lives as himself inside my heart.


End file.
